Consecration
by Freya Ishtar
Summary: In bringing Sirius back, Hermione destroys the Arch. Cursed by its ancient power, she's possessed nightly by a dangerous magical force—one that might consume her if left unchecked. Dealing with the fallout of her actions while trying to free her, Sirius can think of only one means of helping her work off that ravenous nocturnal energy. *premise based on the manga Crimson Spell*
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes, Author's Notes, Author's Notes!**

I know many readers skip over this section 'cause it's usually_ hella_ boring, so when I do have to leave notes, I will try to make them as fun as possible ;)

**1) **Readers unfamiliar with _Crimson Spell_, you don't need to know the manga to follow this story. In a nutshell, there's this prince who's cursed and when he sleeps at night his body becomes inhabited by this ferocious, demonic energy unless he's wearing these enchanted manacles, and there's a wizard aiding him who finds out his secret and starts 'helping' him by getting the demon to work off its energy (you can guess how). Interestingly, the wizard in _CS_ bears a striking resemblance to the way the fandom imagines a First War Lucius Malfoy XD.

**2) **This story is largely going to be SwS (Smut with Substance [PwP's slightly plottier cousin]).

**3)** Some of the smut scenes (at least in the beginning) may be considered dubcon. If you're wary of where the line might be, proceed with caution.

* * *

**Fancast****:**

(If you don't agree with my fancast, imagine whomever you prefer)

Jared Leto as _Sirius Black_.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _Harry Potter_, or any affiliated characters, and make no profit, in any form, from this work.

* * *

**Chapter One**

Sirius coughed out a ragged breath as he lifted his head from the ground. Looking back, he saw Harry tending an unconscious Hermione. The Arch was crumbled to smithereens between them. Within the jagged chunks of debris and rubble, he thought he caught a glimpse of glittering red and black symbols. But their placement . . . as if the writing was _inside _the stone. Maybe inscribed deep into the layers during its construction using some type of ancient magic? Was that how this passageway into that eternal nothing had come to be in the first place?

That was how his first night back in the land of the living had begun—spying the two children, who were _clearly_ no longer children, through a dust cloud tinted deep crimson by those glowing symbols. Yet, as he'd fixed his attention on the pair, that glow vanished. By the time he was climbing to his feet to move toward them, the red had receded entirely, making him wonder if he'd perhaps imagined it.

He'd eyed Harry the entire time as he drew nearer. The young man looked even more James' double than he had the last time they'd seen one another. How long had passed since Bellatrix had knocked him through the Veil?

"Harry?" he said, closing the distance.

Snapping his head around to meet Sirius' gaze, Harry let out a laugh that was a mix of surprise and relief. "Oh my God, it _worked_! She did it!"

Sirius' attention flicked from Harry to the unconscious woman in his arms—she certainly _looked_ like Hermione, the same hair, the same coloring, the same features, but the last time he'd seen her, she'd been a girl of 16, now she was easily in her mid-twenties—and back. "Hermione did this?" he whispered the question in something like awe, yet needing clarification.

"Yes! Though, I think destroying the bloody thing was a _bit_ of an unforeseen outcome. You can't imagine how happy I am to see you!" Harry took an obvious moment to collect himself, this wasn't the time or place for lengthy, heartfelt reunion Harry felt they deserved. "Now, let's get you out of here before anyone raises a fuss and we never get to leave. Help me get her back to Grimmauld Place. Lord knows Kingsley _will_ have questions. He can ask anything he wants_ after_ you've both had some rest."

"You're sure she's okay?" Sirius was never one to bother with formalities. He simply bent down and scooped up the witch, cradling her against his chest.

"Yeah. She warned me this might happen, like a twenty-percent chance of might, but here we are," Harry said as he followed along, half a step behind Sirius as they made their way out of the Department of Mysteries. Kingsley had known Hermione'd been experimenting, he'd signed off on the attempt to extract Sirius from beyond the Veil. But just as he'd mentioned, Harry was pretty sure neither his best friend, nor the Minister of Magic, had realized that getting Sirius back would result in blowing the Arch to bits. Honestly, he thought he should just be relieved that Sirius was out and neither Hermione nor himself had been tagged by flying debris. "I've um, I've been letting her stay at your house recently. I's a long story. Question is are _you_ okay?"

"Everything seems in working order." Sirius looked into her face—so peaceful she might as well've only been sleeping rather than knocked cold from the backlash of breaking those antiquated enchantments. "How did she manage when that thing has been a mystery for so long?"

"The short version? She's Hermione. The long version? She's Hermione Granger, when in doubt, she goes to the library, and she's been going to the library over this particular matter for a few years now. She told me she finally came across something that led to a breakthrough. And she didn't want to endanger anyone else in case it didn't work, so she insisted on performing the disenchantment herself." Harry left out mentioning that she also insisted on working the complicated magic after the Ministry's typical hours of operation, so fewer employees would be about, and any who were still in the building had been advised to steer clear of the DoM, just in case.

"Of course she did." Sirius chuckled, shaking his head. That did sound like the girl he recalled. "Now, tell me _everything_. Are we still at war? How long was I gone? Where's Remus?"

Harry's face shut down as they reached the Floo Network Station. Before they stepped in—Harry warding off any curious Ministry employees stuck working after-hours with a flash of some bit of parchment signed by the Minister, himself, after all, many people were going to be interested to speak with Sirius once news of his reemergence went public—the younger wizard broke things down. Nine years, almost ten. Yes, they'd won the war, but it had cost them. Fred Weasley, Sirius' own little cousin, the adorably feisty Tonks . . . Remus . . . .

Oh, Sirius felt like he'd been punched in the gut. Hermione still in his arms, he sagged back against the wall beside the Floo chute.

"They had a son. Named him Teddy for her father."

Sirius' brows pinched together as he processed that. _They _had a son? But, before he'd fallen through the Veil, he and Remus had . . . . No, he supposed it made sense. They'd probably bonded over losing him. And it had brought them together. That was natural. Still felt a bit like someone was stomping on his heart. At least they'd had each other before they'd gone. There was some comfort in that, he supposed.

"Teddy?" he said, allowing a gentle smile to curve his lips. "Does he take after his mum?"

Harry snickered. "We weren't sure at first, thought he was simply born with turquoise hair as a byproduct of his mother's talents, but . . . by his first birthday, he'd figured out how to turn it magenta."

A more somber look colored Sirius' features, then. "And what about taking after his father?"

"Remus didn't pass on the curse. Teddy's not a werewolf. But . . . he is my godson. They made that happen before . . . . Yeah, before War's End."

Sirius nodded, pushing off of the wall as fluidly as he'd fallen against it. He understood Harry's thickened tone. It hadn't been enough time to not mourn just a little whenever the subject was brought up. No amount of years would ever be enough, not really. "Let's be on our way."

* * *

They exited into the parlor of 12 Grimmauld Place and Harry directed Sirius to the room she'd been using.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Harry asked again as he tugged aside the quilt and Sirius set her down delicately.

Sirius waited for Harry to remove Hermione's shoes and then they pulled the covers up over her. He ignored a glint of red and gold he thought he saw winking at him from beneath the collar of her shirt. "I'm fine. If it makes you feel better, have one of the Ministry's Medi-witches look me over when Hermione meets with Kings tomorrow."

"Have a Medi-witch look you over. You'd like that wouldn't you?"

Sirius cracked a grin. "Well, now that you mention it . . . ."

"You'll keep an eye on her, though? Let me know right away if it seems like she's _not_ doing all right?"

"Of course I will," Sirius said with an arched eyebrow. "And where have_ you_ been staying, might I ask?"

Harry knew what Sirius must've thought at first—the same thought everyone always had at some point or another about himself and Hermione. He held up his left hand, tapping the gold band around his ring finger. It was plainly obvious Hermione was not wearing its match.

"Gin and me. Got married last year. We alternate spending time here and spending time over at Andromeda's house to help with Teddy."

"And this is one of those times?"

Harry nodded. He unexpectedly threw his arms around his godfather in a hug. Though, under the circumstances, Sirius supposed it wasn't unexpected at all. Chuckling, he returned the embrace. Amazing how so much time had passed for him in a blink. But . . . .

"You may look older, but you certainly haven't seemed to have gotten any taller."

"Oi!"

* * *

"Sirius?"

Bloody hell, he'd nodded off. After the insane magical feat she'd performed for him, he'd felt obligated to sit watch and make sure she was all right. Which, despite Sirius swearing to himself that he'd not felt tired, had led to him dosing in the plush armchair by the window.

He looked over at the bed. She was sitting up, her chestnut eyes wide as she stared at him in question.

"It worked? You're really back?"

He smiled, rising to his feet and crossing the room. "You're not dreaming if that's what concerns you. Though," he paused, a smirk she'd best describe as 'saucy' plucking at one corner of his mouth as he gestured toward himself, "I can understand why one might think that."

The sleepy witch giggled, nodding. "Yeah, you're real, all right. Where's Harry?"

"With Ginny and Teddy. Apparently at least one of you thinks I'm responsible enough to mind someone while they're sleeping." He sighed, the sound pure feigned hopelessness.

"Okay, you've been back all of a few hours. Tone down the cheek."

Snickering he spread his hands. "Lotta time to make up for, little love!"

Sirius couldn't help but notice that as her gaze traveled to the window behind him, she suddenly looked frightened. She touched a hand under the collar of her shirt, immediately seeming calmed by the gesture.

He glanced over his shoulder, seeing nothing but the night sky through the gauzy curtains. "Are you okay, Hermione?"

Sniffling, she nodded. "Just . . . reminding myself everything has consequences," her voice slipped from her lips in a whisper.

He shook his head, opening his mouth to ask what she meant, but before he could get the words out, she hurried on louder, with a forced smile. "And I think the consequences are that I am still _completely_ exhausted. Proper reunion in the morning over breakfast? Kreacher still hates me, but he makes excellent coffee."

"That he does." Sirius leaned down, giving her a kiss on the forehead. Did he just imagine the way she trembled a little at his closeness? Straightening—and ignoring the notice—he pointed back over his shoulder at the armchair. "I'll be right there 'til you fall asleep."

Again, she touched at her collar before she responded. Nodding, she lay back down. "Good night, Sirius."

"Sweet dreams, Hermione."

If he didn't know any better, he'd swear she was asleep, again, before he even made it to the chair. He tipped his head to one side as he returned his attention to her. She hadn't _only_ fallen back to sleep, she was already so deeply asleep it seemed nearly impossible that she'd woken at all just now.

Shaking his head, he came back, righting her quilt. That glint of red and gold winked at him again.

Frowning in thought, he reached out a hand. Just as fast, he snatched it back. So what if she was wearing a necklace or something? None of his business what she wore under her clothes, now was it?

Biting hard into his bottom lip, he shook his head once more. That was really_ not_ the best way to phrase things if he was going to get his mind to behave itself; what had gotten into him?

Yet . . . there was something familiar about that red glint.

No. It looked . . . it looked like . . . .

Grumbling under his breath, he lifted a hand again. He winced as he pinched her collar between thumb and forefinger and pulled it down a bit. Staring back at him was a thick, flat gold chain, like a loose choker settled around her clavicle. But what knocked the wind out of him, what made him need to sit down right there on the edge of the bed before he fell down, was that red glow.

Along the gold band, those symbols he'd seen inside the broken stones of the Arch danced. She was bearing some burden for freeing him? Was that what she'd meant just now about consequences?

Destroying the bloody thing _hadn't_ had as slight of a percentage of happening as Harry had been told. Hermione must've expected what was going to occur and thought they wouldn't let her perform the disenchantment if they knew. She'd clearly understood what she was getting into, channeling the Arch's enchantments into something new, siphoning off enough energy that it could no longer hold its form. But she shouldn't carry this. _He_ should.

And he was willing to.

His frown deepening, he reached around her neck, unclasping the necklace and lifting it away from her. As he brought up the chain to loop it around his own neck, he realized her eyes had opened. From the corner of his own, he could see that she was watching him.

Meeting her gaze, he started, "Hermione, I know what you'll say, but you did this for me, and I_ can't_ let you . . . ." Started, but never finished.

Those were not the eyes of Hermione Granger staring up at him. Bright orange-red as they fixed on his face, the near-glowing eyes locked on his as a twisting pattern of red and glittering black appeared here and there on her skin.

The same red and black as within the Arch's stones. The same as her necklace, which was now blank metal in his hands.

"Shit," he murmured, aware of his own misunderstanding of the situation now. She hadn't channeled energy into a damned trinket, but into _herself_. The necklace must have an enchantment on it, making it the only thing keeping whatever that ancient magic was doing to her at bay.

She hadn't moved yet, and he took the opportunity to try to slip it back around her neck. Hermione wrenched out of the way before he could get it clasped, snatching the chain from his hand and throwing it aside.

Where the bloody hell was his wand, anyway, he thought as he tried to rise from the bed and back away toward the necklace. Not that he wanted to use magic on her, but maybe a stunner, something to temporarily subdue her without hurting her. But Hermione's wand was not far, set on the low shelf by the lamp. It wouldn't harm her much—certainly less than any wand should if he'd truly wanted to defend himself, which he really didn't, yet it might be just enough of a jolt to do the trick. He reached out his hand as he moved.

Oh, she did_ not_ appear to like sudden motions. Sirius halted as fast as he'd start shifting away from her, but it was too late. He crashed to the floor with her on top of him. The necklace was out of his reach unless he was ready to throw the witch off him, but as much as the creature looming over him now wasn't Hermione—with those glowing eyes, sharp claws and even sharper fangs visible between her lips as she emitted a low growl at him—this _was _still Hermione. He could always shift forms, but he imagined in her current state, she might view the sudden, mysterious appearance of a large black canine as a threat.

Maybe he could get through to her?

Moving cautiously, he raised his hand to cup her jaw. "Hermione, it's _me_!" He could absolutely feel a strange, raw magic ebbing off of her, but not near as strong as the shock of it that coursed through him when his skin came into contact with the marks on her cheek.

She shivered, just as she had when he'd kissed her forehead. Her lids swept downward in a drowsy blink and she pressed her face tighter against his palm, even as she continued making angry animal sounds deep in the back of her throat.

Fascinated in spite of himself, Sirius followed the twisting symbols down from her check and along the side of her throat with his fingers. There was _so_ much magical power rippling off of her right now, he thought sure it might actually be dangerous for the young woman.

Yet, he could not seem to pull his hand from her. Could not seem to think around the delicious little shock of energy buzzing through him as he swept his fingers down, dipping beneath the collar of her shirt.

She stretched beneath his touch. Holding his gaze still, she seemed tentatively curious about what he was doing. Looking down at herself, she saw the buttons of her shirt, as though didn't know what she expected to find there—like she didn't know why his fingers weren't traveling any lower.

When he paused, she snapped those eyes up to capture his a moment. That was all it took. She realized he was making no move to stop her and she scrambled off of him, bolting for the door.

"Fuck me," he said in a huffing breath as he climbed to his feet and snatched up Hermione's wand.

Yet, as he took aim, he realized he couldn't strike her. Instead he aimed past her, at her target, and sealed shut the door just as she reached it. The magic, whatever it was doing to her, she was like a thing possessed. A monster. He couldn't let her get outside.

She whirled on her heel, her lips peeled back from those elongated canines in a snarl. Sirius held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, even as he blindly cast a charm over his shoulder, sealing the window in the same fashion.

"All right," he said in a gentle voice, moving slow and deliberate as he set back down her wand. He was supposed to contact Harry if she 'wasn't all right', but Sirius thought maybe this wasn't quite what the younger wizard'd had in mind. He doubted very much anyone but Hermione, herself, had known about the backlash she was going to suffer in freeing him. It seemed just like her to want to bear that weight on her own; he knew she'd meant to keep this a secret. "That's it. Just . . . just you and me."

The witch let out a sound that was more animal than human and launched herself at him. At the unexpected movement, Sirius found himself toppling to the floor beneath her all over again.

His hands around her wrists, he held her claws away from his throat, but just barely. Had she always been this strong? No, there was no way, he realized. This had to be the magic possessing her.

"Oh, Hermione, you've got to calm down. I'm a lover not a fighter, you might just kill me."

She showed no sign of understanding his quip and he cursed under his breath. Maybe she really wasn't in there, after all.

He glanced toward where he'd left her wand. "Although, if the situations calls for it, I can put up one _hell_ of a fight."

Leaning down, she snapped her teeth in his face. But that was when he noticed the scar on her throat. It was half-covered by the red-black mark curling down her skin, but it was there. She hadn't had that before he'd fallen through the Veil, had she?

Oh, he was so stupid. This was a hell of a time to make the realization, but Hermione was a Muggleborn. She'd fought a war so that she, and those like her, could simply_ live_ as part of the world they were born to be part of. He'd seen the same thing with Lily, one of his dearest friends he still grieved losing—one of the reasons he knew so well that mourning never truly ended. That wasn't the only scar Hermione'd picked up since he'd last seen her, he'd wager, simply the most visible one.

"Oh, little love," he managed, his voice a low, rough tumble of sound. It was a struggle, but he managed to catch both of her wrists in one hand. As he'd done before—the only thing that seemed to calm her—he reached up with his free hand, trailing the tips of his fingers over the mark along the side of her throat. "I don't have it in me to hurt you. You've already been through so much."

She stilled beneath his touch, the sounds of anger escaping her settling into a quiet, uncertain rumbling. He rather thought it was a noise like a confused kitten might make.

He took a chance, loosening his grip on her wrists and letting them slip from his hand. Holding her gaze as he stroked those charged lines in her skin, he asked, "Is this what you want?" Maybe the creature possessing her didn't know what gentleness was?

She started shivering again, but this was different from the tremors that coursed through her at his touch. This was that uncontrolled power rushing around inside her. That foreign, terrifying magic that wasn't hers.

He didn't hate this. The feel of her skin beneath his fingers, the weight of her on top of him . . . . But he very much disliked that she wasn't _her_.

Cursing the heavens, he reached up his free hand, tugging at the buttons of her shirt to open it. He could get a look at just how far the marks went and maybe help her work off that energy in a way that wouldn't make him completely loathe himself in the morning.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Those twisting lines curved down along her sides, disappearing beneath her jeans; in his periphery, he could just about make out that they continued out from under the hems at her ankles to end in a curl on the soles of her feet. His attention followed his fingers as they dragged over the marks, that strange, delicious buzz of energy thrumming across his own skin, before flicking back up to her face. Her eyes locked on his, but her expression was drowsy, her lips parted in shallow breaths.

He was Sirius Black—he knew precisely what a look like_ that_ meant. Tearing his gaze from hers just long enough to dart a glance down along her body, he could see he was right. The lace of her bra did nothing to shield that her own arousal and his touch had caused her nipples to harden. He knew how wrong this all was, despite how couldn't stop himself from imagining lowering his head to catch one of those tightened little buds between his teeth.

_Focus, Sirius!_

He tugged experimentally at the collar of her now-open shirt with his free hand. "I'm going to sit up now to look at the rest of you, all right?"

Her head swiveled side to side as she visibly attempted to understand him.

_Hell. _Hoping he didn't startle her—he was in quite a vulnerable position right now—he eased himself to sit up. She didn't move on her own, only shifting back when his movement brought him up against her. He could feel the heat of her skin—bare save for that flimsy bra—and those sweetly hardened points of her breasts pressing to him through his robes.

"Oh, you're going to be the death of me, little love," he murmured in a breathless tumble of sound as he tugged her shirt down her arms, just enough to expose her back.

He pressed closer to her, still, so that he could look down over her shoulder. There, trailing from the nape of her neck to disappear into her jeans, again, was a jagged shock of that red and glittering black tracking her spine. The crimson here was richer, though, the black somehow a deeper jet than her other markings, the odd glittering that caught the light a hint brighter. He was trying hard not to think on it, but he could picture that _this_ burst of unnatural, sparking color ended in a tiny little pin-point curl on her tailbone.

Curiosity guided the action as he brought his hand around her side and upward beneath her arm and the loose fabric of her shirt. He dragged the tips of his fingers over this more vibrant line only to be forced to still, an exquisite shiver wracking him. And the way she sagged against him as he'd touched that mark, in particular? There was something _divine_ in it.

When he paused, she lifted her head from his shoulder, emitting a low, dangerous growl.

He spoke in hushed, placating tone. "I'm not sure I should keep going." Even as he said it, though, he was already tracing over that tempting line, again. "But since you don't seem to understand me like this, anyway, I can tell you_ precisely_ what I'm doing, as I think you like this soothing voice I'm using. I need to subdue you so I can put that necklace back on you and get back the real Hermione. As I thought, that seems to mean winding down that energy inside you."

God help him, she was watching his lips move as he talked. And God help him that he didn't hate knowing exactly the sort of release she needed.

That one hand still moving in delicate strokes up and down her spine, he kept his gaze trained on her face as he reached his other between their bodies. She whimpered a little in the back of her throat, a sound of pure pleading, as he cupped his palm between her thighs.

Oh, he thought, the creature that had taken her over understood exactly what he was doing—understood exactly what she had prompted him to do—because she met him halfway. Lifting herself just a bit, she started rocking her hips, grinding herself over the pressure of his hand.

Her skin was so warm; enticing, really. He couldn't seem to take his eyes from her face as she moved against him. Sirius could swear something in the energy jolting through the mark on her spine sent the same pulse-pounding sensations through him as were coursing through her.

Those clawed fingers tangling in his long hair, she almost didn't seem to realize—so swept up in the effects of his touch—that she was pulling his head toward her breasts. He gave in to that earlier imagining, scraping his teeth against the sensitive flesh beneath the soft, filigree material in nibbling pulls.

Yet, even with how much this _wasn't_ Hermione writhing in his hold as he worked his hand between her thighs and caught at her nipples in teasing bites, it was _very_ much Hermione's voice in his ear now as she let out a throaty little moan. Allowing that lace-covered bit of her to slip from his mouth, he tipped back his head to stare up into her face.

"As if I didn't already have a one-way ticket to Hell," he whispered, aware he wasn't fighting this as hard as he should be.

She brought her mouth to his. Her breath ghosted over the delicate skin and then he felt it—the dragging of one of those sharply extended teeth against his bottom lip.

He let out a hissing breath when she nipped him, breaking the skin. Hermione pressed herself harder against the motions of his hand as she sealed her mouth around the wounded bit of flesh, caressing it with the gentlest flicks of the tip of her tongue. Sweet Lord, he really was doomed—she was making an injury she'd just inflicted pleasurable.

Again, he could feel it—the sweet, heated tingling dancing through her growing sharper as her movements became uncontrolled. Her hips were jerking roughly and she broke that bloody almost-kiss, throwing back her head to let out a cry as she stilled in his embrace.

He could feel his own breath coming up short, fine tremors shaking through his muscles while she came. For several blissful heartbeats, he let himself be overwhelmed by the shared sensation.

The energy pulsing from the mark along her spine started to lessen as her body shivered and she started moving once more. She pressed herself against his hand in unsteady motions, that dangerous magic inside her dwindling down precisely as her orgasm ebbed.

Sirius knew when it was over even before she sank against him, he could feel that last lick of sweet, curling energy wind through him. And then it was gone, leaving a rich, languid sort of warmth in its wake.

She all but collapsed in his arms, her head falling against his shoulder. Her marks had faded, but not receded. Her eyes had drifted closed and her exhalations were evening out, becoming soft and shallow.

Sirius dropped a kiss against the top of her head, allowing himself a moment for his own breathing to steady.

He shifted his hold on her and stood on wobbly knees. Bringing her back to the bed, he laid her down in much the same position she'd been in before he had so ignorantly—and, calling a spade a spade, foolishly—removed that chain. When she seemed only to fall into a deeper slumber, he breathed a sigh of relief.

Shaking his head at himself, Sirius first went to snatch up her necklace from where she'd thrown it on the floor before doing anything else. The sooner it was back on her, the sooner he could think clearly. Although, retrieving the chain and coming back to her bedside, he thought even putting this restraint on her made no difference, since his own movements made him aware of the state this incident had left _him_ in.

He'd felt her release, but had had no true release of his own. There was part of him that wanted to laugh himself sick about how deeply wrong it probably was of him to be hard over a witch he'd known since she was a girl—their 'special circumstance' of him missing the last nine years and her suddenly being a grown woman notwithstanding.

Securing the clasp around her neck, the marks at last vanished. The glittering red and jet bled back into the gold chain, shivering across the metallic surface, once more.

He hated himself for what he was thinking as he re-buttoned her shirt and pulled the blanket up over her, as though nothing at all had happened.

Scowling, he pinched the chain between his fingers, his anger more at that primal magic that had taken such complete control of the now-sleeping witch than at himself. "If this sort of thing happens again," he whispered, wondering if he dreaded or was intrigued by the possibility, "I don't think I'll be able to handle it so innocently that you're the only one who gets off."

* * *

"Morning, Sirius!"

He thought he just might jump out of his skin at her chipper shout when he stepped into the dining room the following morning. The witch was smiling; bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, a million other descriptives he could put to someone being cheerfully wide awake.

Kreacher gave him a grudging nod of acknowledgment, grumbling under his breath—something about how even a blood-traitor who was a _true _pure-blood was better than the whims of the half-blood and the filthy Mudblood he'd been serving at said half-blood's behest, the wizard would imagine—as he set a plate for his returned master. "Would Master have coffee or tea?" he said in an angry rumble.

"Coffee, Kreacher. Don't you seem more detestable than ever? The years haven't been kind to you."

The elf poured the coffee in silence, fixing it the way he recalled, and then shuffled off toward the kitchen on heavy footfalls.

She smirked as she turned her attention back to her plate. "I'd tell you not to mind him, but if anyone knows how he can be . . . ?" Letting her voice trail off, Hermione shrugged. "But I think he's been even more, well,_ Kreacher,_ since Harry moved your mother's portrait to the Ministry archives."

"Well, I thought the house _did_ feel a little more pleasant than I remembered," he said, nearing the table a bit cautiously. He hadn't the foggiest idea how to approach last night's occurrence. "How are you feeling after . . . after what happened?"

Spearing a banger on her fork, she lifted it and took a hearty bite, chewing and swallowing before she answered. He could swear she was on the verge of bouncing in her seat. "That disenchantment _really_ took it out of me. I don't think I've ever slept so deeply in my life!"

His eyes wide, he fell into the seat Kreacher had left pulled out for him. "Really?"

She shrugged, taking another bite—and rather reminding Sirius of a contented kitten, actually. "I'm sorry to say I barely remember what we talked about when I woke in the middle of the night, but I feel so refreshed. I must've slept like a baby! Though, I do feel famished . . . well, _did_, anyway."

He could only watch her as she went on stuffing her face in her contented kitten way. Honestly? He hadn't been entirely certain what to expect from her this morning. That she'd feel betrayed by him taking liberties with her body last night—that he'd done it for her own sake seemed entirely beside the point—or recall what had happened as something she'd dreamed and feel embarrassed, but this utter cut-off from the incident?

When he remained silent and still, not even touching his food or coffee, she looked up. Immediately, her face fell. "Oh, no. Sirius?" She shuffled out of her seat and rounded the table to stand beside him.

Never so baffled in his life as he felt just now, Sirius only gaped up at her next to him.

She thoughtlessly cupped his chin, her gaze falling to his mouth as she tilted back his head. "What did you do to your lip?"

Her question brought a sense-memory coursing through him—the sweet, teasing sting of her fanged tooth tearing open his skin—and he shivered ever so slightly in her hold. "I'm fine," he said, his voice spilling out in a breathless whisper. "Just . . . just bit my lip during the night, is all."

Hermione's brow furrowed at the response of his body. "You were just shaking. We should have you looked at," she offered, a concerned frown tugging at her lips. "When I go to speak with Kingsley, you should—"

He slipped his hands up over hers. "I'm fine, little love. But yes, last night Harry and I discussed me getting checked out while you meet with the Minister." He wasn't sure any good could come from telling her what had happened. "But . . . perhaps I should eat something first? Been nine years since my last meal."

She let out a surprised laugh. "Of course, that could be the problem, too! I'd imagine those shakes _could_ be on account of hunger. But still. You'll get yourself looked at? You promise?"

_This _was the Hermione he'd struggled to get back last night. His _friend_. The woman who would suffer through hypothermia or walk through fire if someone she loved needed her, but Merlin forbid one of her friends so much as sneezed.

Yet, in spite of himself and all his well-intentioned thoughts, his pulse quickened and a little heated ripple coursed through him at the memory of that feral, ravenous version of her from last night. That version of her that she didn't even seem to know existed.

He wrapped his fingers over hers, curling her hands into fists in his own and holding them beneath his chin. "I promise."

Hermione watched his face a moment. Those blue-grey eyes of his, the delicate skin beneath them crinkling as he smiled up at her, seemed in danger of stopping her heart. The way his jet beard and mustache framed his mouth so perfectly and highlighted the slant of his cheekbones . . . .

Had she noticed when she was younger just how beautiful Sirius Black was?

His brows drew upward, panic welling in his gut a moment at the way she seemed frozen to the spot. Was she remembering? He didn't want her _not_ to, but he'd rather come clean with her, himself, than have the memories simply flood back with him acting as though nothing had happened, he simply had no idea how to get the words out. "Hermione?"

"Oh!" Snatching her hands from beneath his, she scurried back to her seat, all the while shaking her head at herself. "I'm sorry," she forced out the apology as she determinedly picked up her fork, her cheeks ablaze. "I just . . . please don't take this wrong, but I just don't think I was able to appreciate what you look like when I was a child."

Sirius could feel his own cheeks warm a little at her admission. "Oh," he echoed, nodding. But then a smirk curved his mouth and he finally reached for his coffee. "Nothing to be embarrassed about there, little love. _I _know what I look like!"

She burst out giggling, the tension draining out of her. She'd been so fearful that she'd just gone and made things awkward between them. After all, he probably still thought of her as a child.

They talked for a bit as they ate, and Sirius thought perhaps it was better this way. As she told him about her split from Ron, and her refusal to stay with her parents—the consequence which had led to her living here as she amassed what was likely a small fortune to get her own place in a Muggle-tolerant area of Wizarding Britain—he considered that maybe last night's happening could be an isolated incident.

Yes, as long as she kept on that necklace, things were sure to fine. He'd even help her figure out how to rid herself of . . . .

That was when he noticed that the v-neck of her pale blue shirt gave him a clear view of her_ bare_ collarbones.

"Hermione? Where's your necklace?" The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

Her chestnut eyes widened as she snapped her head up to stare at him. "My necklace?"

Well, she certainly understood something had gone wrong. She seemed shocked that he knew of the maligned piece of jewelry, at all. What did it mean? Was she only pretending to not remember last night, or was there truly a separation between herself and that thing she became when that dark magical energy possessed her?

If the latter, how was she keeping it at bay now without that gold chain's enchantment?

Drawing a deep breath and letting it out slow, he decided to proceed cautiously. He reminded himself that whatever was happening to her, she'd put herself through it for the sake of bringing him back.

"I saw it last night. When I put you to bed, the gold necklace? The one covered in the same magic symbols I noticed when I first came out of the Arch as it crumbled to pieces?"

Her wide eyes drifted from his to trail aimlessly over the table. "I had no idea the energy had been visible."

He swallowed hard against the confirmation that she had, indeed, known something was not right with her following the Arch's destruction. "What did you _do_, Hermione?"

For a few deafeningly silent heartbeats, she appeared to struggle with just how to explain. "The Veil doesn't only exist through the Arch, it's just one entry point, is all. But there's a lot of magic that goes into the creation of a portal like that. Ancient magic, forgotten magic. The sort we've lost the ability to understand." She toyed with her fork, keeping herself distanced from her own words as she went on. "I knew getting you back wouldn't be possible if I didn't give that energy some place new to go."

"And so . . . you let it go into you?"

Hermione's gaze shot up to meet his. "Yes, but because of the magic I used during the disenchantment . . . the energy is only dangerous when my conscious mind is dormant. I charmed that necklace to contain it."

Sirius forced a nod. "So . . . when you sleep . . . ?"

She returned his nod. "Last night, I knew there was a chance the disenchantment would drain me to the point of falling unconscious, so I put the necklace on before I even arrived at the Department of Mysteries. Just to be safe."

"Safe, sure," he said, the words tumbling numb from his lips. "Why did you go so far? You could've left me in there."

"No, I couldn't." Her lips quirked upward in a sad smile. "Harry's life has been so unfair. His parents died, Remus died, Dumbledore died, everyone he looked up to . . . . and then I remembered. Despite popular belief, going through the Veil doesn't kill you, it just puts you in a place from which there's no way back. Harry won't ever talk about how much he lost, about how wounded he is. Seven years since War's End and he won't even have a soul-bearing session with his best friends because it hurts him too much. I knew, I _knew _you weren't gone, not really. I thought, if I could make a way back for you, if I could return you here so you could be part of his life again, well, you'd be back with us, for starters, _and _you could help him heal. You could help_ each other_ heal." She shrugged. "So that's what I did. I made you a way back."

She talked about it sort of . . . lightly. As though it was no big deal for her, despite obvious signs to the contrary. Just like Hermione Granger. His heart stung a bit as he stared back at her.

"Harry doesn't know about the necklace, or about needing to put the energy somewhere, so I'd appreciate it if we could keep this to ourselves?"

"Hermione," he started, shaking his head, "this is dangerous for you."

"I can handle it!"

His brows pinched together hard as he asked in a harsh tone, "Can you?"

She started a bit, taken aback by Sirius speaking to her so. He'd never done that before. "What . . . ? Sirius?"

He only looked at her, his lips pursed.

A jagged ball of ice settled in the pit of her stomach. "Did the necklace not work? Did I do something terrible last night?"

After a moment of simply holding her gaze, his shoulders slumped. He couldn't make her worry. Already the expression on her face was turning that stinging into something sharper and markedly more painful.

"The necklace worked," he said quietly. Not only couldn't he worry her, but he couldn't bring himself to make her feel ashamed of what had transpired last night. "I'm just concerned. I don't want this harming you."

"Well, then you're in luck. I could use a research partner to help me find some way to safely expel the Arch's magic."

Again, his pulse quickened and a sweet thrill ran through him in spite of himself as he remembered helping to temporarily relieve her of that magic's energy.

"Of course."

As he watched her pick up her mug for a sip, he could swear he felt his willpower crumbling. She seemed so at ease now that this was out in the open, so calm and light again. It felt _so _dishonest to omit their shared experience.

"Hermione," he started—though he still honestly had no idea how to say any of it—when the front door burst open, cutting him off.

"Sirius? Hermione?"

They both looked to the dining room entryway at Harry calling their names.

"In here," the witch answered, hurrying to finish the last of her coffee as running footfalls echoed through the house.

Sirius' godson poked his head through the doors. "C'mon. Kingsley wants to speak with all of us, _now_."

Both aware the urgency meant this had to do with more than just a wrecked artifact and a medical exam for Sirius, the pair stood from the table and hurried to follow Harry back down the corridor.

Sirius could swear he felt Hermione's sudden burst of panic as if it were his own. Catching her hand in his as they ventured thought the house, he gave it a reassuring squeeze.

She clung tighter to his fingers for a moment before letting go. The sensation of his skin on hers had been soothing, calming.

And somehow alluring in a way she'd not expected.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

"Poppy!"

Wide eyed, Madame Pomfrey looked up at the person who stepped into the Minister's office shouting her name. There he was, one of the terrors of Hogwarts during his days as a student . . . Sirius Black. Oh, how many times had he ended up in the hospital wing—or landed one of his friends there—because of some fool prank he'd believed would simply be so hilarious?

She'd thought taking a post within the Ministry following the Second War was going to be a _calmer _job than her previous employment at the school. At some point during her long life she must've angered some ancient deity, she was certain.

Miss Granger and Mr. Potter exchanged a glance, visibly trying to hold back laughter as Mr. Black swept across the length of the room and scooped the poor elderly Medi-witch—already seeming weary from his presence as though the entire world hadn't thought him lost forever these past nine years—into his arms like they were old friends.

She let out a notably displeased sound of surprise to find herself in the air. "Yes, yes. It's good to see you, too. You can put me down now, Mr. Black."

"Sorry. Just how long I've been gone is only now starting to sink in," he said as he set her on her feet. "Last night, it felt like no time had passed at all, but since waking up this morning, it's slowly becoming something I can feel. It's making me aware of how long it's actually been since I've seen familiar faces."

"To saver us all a little time, I asked Poppy to come here so that she could check you over while we discuss a rather pressing matter," the Minister said from where he stood beside his desk.

Sirius whirled on his heel. "Kingsley!"

"Don't you dare!" Kingsley held up a finger in warning.

His blue-grey eyes rolling as his shoulders slumped, Sirius huffed. "Can see nine years hasn't changed everyone. You're _still_ no fun."

Kingsley's large frame seemed to crumble for only a split second before he drew himself to stand upright once more. "It's good to see you again, Sirius. Still not letting you hug me and whirl me about the room." Not that Sirius Black would actually be able to lift Kingsley Shacklebolt in order _to _whirl him about, yet the Minister was certain the attempt, alone, would be embarrassing not only for the two of them, but for everyone present.

Poppy nodded at the table that had been brought in for his exam. "C'mon, Mr. Black."

Sirius was, of course, about to utter some cheeky reply, but Kingsley preempted him, speaking as he rounded his desk to take his seat. "Harry, Hermione, if you would please sit and we'll get this started while Poppy deals with him."

Hermione bit her lip, once more trying not to laugh as Sirius made another less-than-appropriate comment while he turned and pushed himself to sit back on the exam table. For his part, Harry snickered as they seated themselves in the armchairs stationed before the Minister's desk. "It's refreshing."

"That he hasn't changed?" she asked, grinning.

"That we're old enough to get that half of his jokes that went over our heads before."

The pair looked up to see Kingsley Shacklebolt staring at them, his hands folded before him a top a pile of parchments, scrolls, and haphazardly torn open envelopes. He appeared to—none too patiently—be waiting for them to give him their undivided attention.

"Sorry," they said—all three of them—as one voice while Sirius turned under Madame Pomfrey's murmured instruction for a portion of her wand reading.

Clearing his throat, Kingsley nodded. "Thank you all for coming in on such short notice. I understand you two are probably both still a bit worn out after last night." He gestured off-handedly from Hermione to Sirius, and back.

"What?" The startled little slip of a question was out of Sirius' mouth before he could stop it.

Hermione turned her head, catching his bewildered gaze over her shoulder. "Because I disenchanted a powerful and unimaginably ancient magical artifact, and you were trapped in some mystery dimension for nearly a decade?"

Immediately Sirius understood why _she_ would think he reacted to the statement with confusion and just a hint of panic. She assumed it was on account of her secret, and he supposed in a sense that was true. God, he was going to have to find a time and place to tell her the full story of what happened last night. Just as it was those eyes that had stopped him from being able to tell her the truth back at Grimmauld Place earlier, it was the way she was looking at him right now that made him think he would not be able to bare keeping a secret from her long—especially _this _secret.

"Right, sorry." He shook his head. "I suppose this is still a bit of a . . . surreal situation for all of us."

Feigning a calm smile, she returned her attention to the Minister. "Sorry. It _was_ something of a long night. Um, you were saying?" She was completely oblivious—or at least appeared to be—of Harry pursing his lips as he spared a moment to glance back and forth between Hermione and Sirius.

"Yes. Assuming Poppy gives Sirius a clean bill of health, I would suggest none of you gets comfortable very long. I will handle all Ministry and public media matters regarding Sirius' return as I cannot afford for you to concern yourselves with such frivolities at present. There's an urgent matter which requires your attention. As such, I can grant you another two days to ensure you're both recovered from your ordeals, but no more."

Harry was the first one to speak up, holding a hand in the air. "Whoa, wait. Um, sorry, but why us?"

Kingsley once more cleared his throat as he pushed the pile of documentation across the desktop toward them. "I'm sure, Hermione, your research turned up that the Arch was only _one _among many gateways through the Veil, yes?"

Hermione had a sinking feeling as she reached for the paperwork, her entire body seemed to slump beneath the weight of it. "Oh, no."

The dark-skinned wizard nodded, his striking features pulling into a thoughtful scowl. "When your disenchantment destroyed the Arch, you set off a chain reaction throughout the Wizarding world. Other such gateways became . . . unstable. By the time the sun came up just a few hours ago here in Britain, those other artifacts lay in ruin."

"Why do I get the feeling that's not all that happened?"

A deep sigh rumbled out of Kingsley. "It seems, once it was learned that there was no way back from wherever these gateways led—no way back until last night, anyway—some ancient Wizarding cultures used them as prisons."

"I wasn't the only one who got free, I take it?"

Wincing at Sirius' question, Kingsley shook his head. "Afraid not. There are reports from all over of at least one or more . . . beings escaping during the destruction of the other gateways."

"Beings?" Harry echoed, his brows jumping up over the wire rims of his glasses.

"Well . . . ." Kingsley seemed unsettled in a way that was not very common for Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt. "As it happens not all of these prisoners are human."

"So, we're talking, what?" Hermione's brow furrowed. "Werewolves? Vampires?" Oh, sure, they weren't talked about often, even in the Magical community, but they were as real as werewolves, simply . . . more taboo, for some reason. "Fair-folk?"

Kingsley nodded. "And some dark creatures that were, at the time, not able to be identified by their captors."

Hermione and Harry exchanged a worried glance, but left the question unasked. Dark creatures? Did that mean . . . demons? Well, now, _that_ would be a new one on them.

With an awkward clearing of his throat, Harry said, "Okay, perhaps we can loop back around now to 'why us?'"

Nodding, Kingsley pursed his lips and dropped his gaze to the paperwork he'd pushed toward them. "Given all of her recent, extensive—literally exhaustive—research on the Arch, Hermione Granger is currently the most knowledgeable living person with regard to the Veil's gateways. Aside from the escapees, Sirius is the only person to have returned from time spent beyond the Veil. There's a chance he might be able to . . . forgive me, this sounds ridiculous, but a chance he might be able to_ sense _those others who've dwelled in that place."

"So, that's my purpose in all this?" the wizard in question asked as he hopped down from the exam table. He strolled up behind the armchairs in which Hermione and Harry sat and braced his hands over the backs, leaning between them a little. "I'm some sort of escaped-and-possibly-terrifying being detector?"

"In not so many words, yes. I fear that if anyone not so familiar with it as the two of you are attempted to apprehend these beings, they will not be prepared for what may follow. And I would assume you, Harry, would simply refuse to let them tackle this problem without your assistance." Kingsley lifted his hands. "You are also one of the most gifted Aurors in Britain."

"So I'd be the muscle?" Harry spared a second to look down at himself, what with his frame that was just as wiry as when he'd been a teenager. "Magically speaking, of course?"

Hermione uttered a scoffing sound. Since when did she need a bodyguard?

Sooner than she could voice protest, however, Kingsley locked his eyes on hers and shook his head. "I do not question your abilities as a witch. We are all aware how very formidable you are in your own right, Hermione, but we do not know precisely what you might be going up against in some of these cases. Many of the records from the days these creatures were imprisoned have been lost or destroyed as a matter of maintaining secrecy, stupid as that now seem—"

"I can't go," Harry blurted out.

Everyone in the room turned their attention on him.

He met each of their gazes in turn before heaving a sigh. "I didn't want to say anything, yet, because it's still quite early, but Ginny's pregnant."

Sirius' brows shot up and his jaw fell while a smile broke across Hermione's face. "Oh, that's wonderful! Why didn't you say-?"

"Because even though it's only early, it's been a bit rough on her." Harry swallowed hard, nodding. "It's not like I believe we won't all come back from this task in one piece, but if . . . ." He shook his head, forcing a mirthless smile as he fixed his attention on his best friend. "If something happened to her, or our baby, and I wasn't here? I'd never forgive myself."

Her shoulders sloping downward, Hermione clasped one of Harry's hands between both of hers. "Oh, no, you should _definitely_ stay here with Ginny! We can manage, I'm sure. And I want updates as often as possible!"

At that, Harry chuckled softly. "If I survive her finding out I told you all before she was ready for anyone to know."

"Okay," Kingsley said, nodding. "So, Harry will stay behind. I'll make arrangements for you to be accompanied by an Auror from the Wizarding government of whatever country you're currently visiting."

Hermione didn't spare the matter another thought. This was serious—dear, it was strange thinking that word with_ Sirius_ standing right there next to her—and needed to be dealt with as quickly as possible. They should get started immediately!

Glancing at Sirius before giving Kingsley her most seri—her most stern expression, she said, "There's no need to rest. I'm fine, and I'm sure Madame Pomfrey's given Sirius a clean bill of health?"

Poppy, who'd been quietly sitting while observing the meeting, piped up in response. "Yes, he seems his old self. Perfectly healthy."

Holding one hand palm up in a 'there you go' gesture, Hermione said, "Then Sirius and I can leave right now."

Sirius coughed out a sound of surprise. Wincing, he leaned down, speaking so low into the witch's ear, he wasn't even entirely sure she heard him, "That might not be the best idea, little love. What if we get into an altercation at one of these sites and you're knocked unconscious?"

Hermione repressed a shiver, wondering briefly if he was aware that his lips had brushed her ear, because she was sure he hadn't a clue what the warm ghosting of his breath tingling over the side of her throat was doing to her. He leaned back from her and she could only stare up at him for a few heartbeats.

Clearing her throat—she thought the way he tapped at his collar bone, indicating the necklace she was distinctly _not_ wearing right now, was lost on Harry and the Minister, and even if it weren't they'd have no idea what the signal meant—Hermione dropped her gaze back to the desktop before her. "Um, you know what? Yes, perhaps a day, or . . . even just a few hours, really, before we're expected to leave would be good."

"Very well." Kingsley stood from his desk. "Then I will expect you two back here in, say, twelve hours to depart for France?" The pair nodded in reply and he continued, "Good. That should give you both long enough to rest up a bit more and for me to make arrangements without wasting any more time than necessary. Harry? My best to Ginny. You will let me know if you need anything?"

"Of course. Thank you."

Harry and Hermione stood, following Sirius to file out through the Minister's office door. Harry could not help hanging back a moment, his gaze on the witch and wizard ahead of him. He turned his head, catching Kingsley's eyes. The Minister's brows shot up and he shrugged, shaking his head.

Oh, Harry wanted to believe that whatever little moment had gone on when Sirius was whispering in her ear just now had been completely innocent, but clearly Kingsley was thinking along the same lines. It was a strange time to wonder given everything else going on, but exactly how much _bonding_ had taken place between Hermione and Sirius after he'd left them at Grimmauld Place last night?

Was it wise to leave them alone together, or was he reading too much into things?


End file.
